The Age of Innocence[純真年代] [平裝] 下載 mobi epub pdf 電子書 2025

簡體網頁||繁體網頁

☆☆☆☆☆

Edith Wharton（伊迪絲·華頓） 著

齣版社： Penguin US

ISBN：9780451530882

版次：1

商品編碼：19043410

包裝：平裝

叢書名： Signet Classics

齣版時間：2008-03-04

用紙：膠版紙

頁數：336

正文語種：英文

商品尺寸：14.73x2.29x17.27cm

編輯推薦

The winner of the 1921 Pulitzer Prize, Wharton's acclaimed novel is the story of a passion threatened by convention and played out against a backdrop or New York City's upper class, unimaginable wealth, and unavoidable tragedy. Revised reissue.

《純真時代》是伊迪絲·華頓的傑齣代錶作品。華頓把愛倫--全書的靈魂人物的性格的各個側麵都描寫的栩栩如生。她的溫柔、善良、勇敢、真實，尤其是她展現齣來的犧牲精神更是伴隨著故事的發展而升華。

內容簡介

The 1920s novel of a passion threatened by convention and played outagainst a backdrop of New York City-s upper class, unimaginable wealth,and unavoidable tragedy.

《純真年代》講述透過老紐約社會培養齣的最優秀的青年———紐蘭，通過他保守的思想和雙眼，奧蘭斯卡伯爵夫人的形象就是一個極為風情、大膽的女子，有些輕浮、有些散漫，看起來和老紐約社會上的
貴族是那樣的不同，在他看來這樣的女人也不可能具有什麼高貴的品質。但是隨著故事的展開，奧蘭斯卡伯爵夫人的許多優秀的品質被顯現齣來，尤其是她的人道主義的犧牲精神展現得尤為突齣。

作者簡介

Edith Wharton:One of America's most important novelists, Edith Wharton was a refined, relentless chronicler of the Gilded Age and its social mores. Along with close friend Henry James, she helped define literature at the turn of the 20th century, even as she wrote classic nonfiction on travel, decorating and her own life.

伊迪絲·華頓（Edith Wharton, 1862年1月24日－1937年8月11日），是19 世紀末女性現實主義作傢的代錶，她的一生推齣瞭近十餘部作品，包括中、長篇小說、詩歌、傳記和文學批評等不同體裁。由於她生活的局限性，她的小說一般都是以一種極其細膩的手法描寫著貴族生活，所以也被人稱為溫和現實主義作傢。美國女作傢，作品有《高尚的嗜好》、《純真年代》、《四月裏的陣雨》、《馬恩河》、《戰地英雄》等書。

精彩書評

"One of the best novels of the 20th century."
--NY Times Book Review

"The winner of the 1921 Pulitzer Prize, Wharton's acclaimed novel is the story of a passion threatened by convention and played out against a backdrop or New York City's upper class, unimaginable wealth, and unavoidable tragedy."
-- Revised reissue.

精彩書摘

ON A January evening of the early seventies, Christine Nilsson was singing in "Faust" at the Academy of Music in New York.

Though there was already talk of the erection, in remote metropolitan distances "above the Forties," of a new Opera House which should compete in costliness and splendour with those of the great European capitals, the world of fashion was still content to reassemble every winter in the shabby red and gold boxes of the sociable old Academy. Conservatives cherished it for being small and inconvenient, and thus keeping out the "new people" whom New York was beginning to dread and yet be drawn to; and the sentimental clung to it for its historic associations, and the musical for its excellent acoustics, always so problematic a quality in halls built for the hearing of music.

It was Madame Nilsson's first appearance that winter, and what the daily press had already learned to describe as "an exceptionally brilliant audience" had gathered to hear her, transported through the slippery, snowy streets in private broughams, in the spacious family landau, or in the humbler but more convenient "Brown coupé." To come to the Opera in a Brown coupe was almost as honourable a way of arriving as in one's own carriage; and departure by the same means had the immense advantage of enabling one (with a playful allusion to democratic principles) to scramble into the first Brown conveyance in the line, instead of waiting till the cold-and-gin congested nose of one's own coachman gleamed under the portico of the Academy. It was one of the great livery-stableman's most masterly intuitions to have discovered that Americans want to get away from amusement even more quickly than they want to get to it.

When Newland Archer opened the door at the back of the club box the curtain had just gone up on the garden scene. There was no reason why the young man should not have come earlier, for he had dined at seven, alone with his mother and sister, and had lingered afterward over a cigar in the Gothic library with glazed black-walnut bookcases and finial-topped chairs which was the only room in the house where Mrs. Archer allowed smoking. But, in the first place, New York was a metropolis, and perfectly aware that in metropolises it was "not the thing" to arrive early at the opera; and what was or was not "the thing" played a part as important in Newland Archer's New York as the inscrutable totem terrors that had ruled the destinies of his forefathers thousands of years ago.

The second reason for his delay was a personal one. He had dawdled over his cigar because he was at heart a dilettante, and thinking over a pleasure to come often gave him a subtler satisfaction than its realisation. This was especially the case when the pleasure was a delicate one, as his pleasures mostly were; and on this occasion the moment he looked forward to was so rare and exquisite in quality that—well, if he had timed his arrival in accord with the prima donna's stage-manager he could not have entered the Academy at a more significant moment than just as she was singing: "He loves me—he loves me not—he loves me!—" and sprinkling the falling daisy petals with notes as clear as dew.

She sang, of course, "M'ama!" and not "he loves me," since an unalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that the German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of English-speaking audiences. This seemed as natural to Newland Archer as all the other conventions on which his life was moulded: such as the duty of using two silver-backed brushes with his monogram in blue enamel to part his hair, and of never appearing in society without a flower (preferably a gardenia) in his buttonhole.

"M'ama . . . non m'ama . . ." the prima donna sang, and "M'ama!" with a final burst of love triumphant, as she pressed the dishevelled daisy to her lips and lifted her large eyes to the sophisticated countenance of the little brown Faust-Capoul, who was vainly trying, in a tight purple velvet doublet and plumed cap, to look as pure and true as his artless victim.

Newland Archer, leaning against the wall at the back of the club box, turned his eyes from the stage and scanned the opposite side of the house. Directly facing him was the box of old Mrs. Manson Mingott, whose monstrous obesity had long since made it impossible for her to attend the Opera, but who was always represented on fashionable nights by some of the younger members of the family. On this occasion, the front of the box was filled by her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Lovell Mingott, and her daughter, Mrs. Welland; and slightly withdrawn behind these brocaded matrons sat a young girl in white with eyes ecstatically fixed on the stage lovers. As Madame Nilsson's "M'ama!" thrilled out above the silent house (the boxes always stopped talking during the Daisy Song) a warm pink mounted to the girl's cheek, mantled her brow to the roots of her fair braids, and suffused the young slope of her breast to the line where it met a modest tulle tucker fastened with a single gardenia. She dropped her eyes to the immense bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley on her knee, and Newland Archer saw her white-gloved finger-tips touch the flowers softly. He drew a breath of satisfied vanity and his eyes returned to the stage.

No expense had been spared on the setting, which was acknowledged to be very beautiful even by people who shared his acquaintance with the Opera Houses of Paris and Vienna. The foreground, to the footlights, was covered with emerald green cloth. In the middle distance symmetrical mounds of woolly green moss bounded by croquet hoops formed the base of shrubs shaped like orange-trees but studded with large pink and red roses. Gigantic pansies, considerably larger than the roses, and closely resembling the floral pen-wipers made by female parishioners for fashionable clergymen, sprang from the moss beneath the rose-trees; and here and there a daisy grafted on a rose-branch flowered with a luxuriance prophetic of Mr. Luther Burbank's far-off prodigies.

In the centre of this enchanted garden Madame Nilsson, in white cashmere slashed with pale blue satin, a reticule dangling from a blue girdle, and large yellow braids carefully disposed on each side of her muslin chemisette, listened with downcast eyes to M. Capoul's impassioned wooing, and affected a guileless incomprehension of his designs whenever, by word or glance, he persuasively indicated the ground floor window of the neat brick villa projecting obliquely from the right wing.

"The darling!" though

評分☆☆☆☆☆

　　耶哥蕊特是鄉下姑娘進城，絕境長城內的新鮮事物都讓她好奇，見到個磨坊就當是宮殿瞭。這時，瓊恩來到瞭自己熟悉的地域，自然有話要說，可是和耶哥蕊特的幾番交談，依舊是落瞭下風，仍舊是那個“你什麼都不知道”的囧。兩人一路打情罵俏，此時活著且享受擁有彼此的美好時光，即使為人挑撥，前路生死未蔔，也無所謂瞭。耶哥蕊特的活力、勇敢，還有她對愛情的堅定和對自由的嚮往，在電視劇展現得更加淋灕盡緻。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

　　 許多年後，他已兩鬢如霜，和兒子一起靜靜地坐在埃倫窗口下的凳子上，凝視著帶涼棚的陽颱，在濃重的暮色中，夕陽反射在玻璃上，金色的光芒照亮瞭他的臉龐，他發現自己以為早已遠去的往事居然都曆曆在目，哪怕隻是刹那的光華，足以照亮整個生命，隻因為他從未遺忘。窗子關上瞭，他慢慢地站起來，轉身，然後消失在沉沉的暮靄之中。他的一生在愛與痛、期盼與等待中化為一個顫巍巍的背影，驀然迴首，往事恍然若夢。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

買來慢慢讀 包裝小些 便於攜帶 但是字兒也小哦

評分☆☆☆☆☆

　　埃倫是一個因不幸婚姻而遭上流社會封殺的女人，她總是毫無顧忌地笑，她不懂得禮儀、不在乎形式。阿切爾看到她哭瞭：“難道上流社會的人從來不哭泣？”她的眼淚裏寫滿瞭孤寂。他握住她的手，潔白修長的手指，青色的血管像浮雕般在皮膚上蔓延開來。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

現在買書，隻在京東瞭，物流給力，價格給力，心裏舒服極瞭。哈哈哈哈

評分☆☆☆☆☆

我並不同意他的觀點。我覺得“梅是純真的關鍵詞，外貌性格和愛的錶現。她的存在意味著一種近乎完美的世俗規範，沒有強製性，完全是自我要求，完全自然。她的犧牲在於錶麵看來不動聲色的製衡，她是一個比丈夫更具有傢庭責任感的女人，對她而言，守護一段愛情與婚姻，經營一個傢庭與傢族，不單純是為瞭粉飾繁華，為瞭虛僞禮儀和旁人的眼光，也是一種建構一種完美健全人格的必須。她嫁給瞭他，清醒地愛著他的愛，承擔著他的欺騙與齣軌，然後鎮定沉著地把一切交給歲月去醞釀成一種更高程度的和諧，固若金湯。她的端莊美好優秀維係著丈夫一貫的良好名聲，也無聲無息地化解每一種復雜，貼上飽經風霜的純真的標簽。”

評分☆☆☆☆☆

好好好好好好好好好好好好好好

評分☆☆☆☆☆

就我買時的價錢來說是相當劃算的，打算迴傢再看，畢業前的最後一批書。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

　　詹姆和布雷妮的南下君臨之路，完成瞭對詹姆的洗白。第一季那個魯莽、浮誇的年輕人已經隨著那隻斷掉的右手死掉瞭。近硃者赤近墨者黑，和瑟曦在一起的詹姆就是精蟲上腦的莽夫，但和布雷妮同行之後，布雷妮身上那種強烈的道德意識、榮譽觀念和生存意誌都在積極地方麵影響著詹姆。臨行道彆時，詹姆的真誠換取瞭布雷妮的信任，這是第一次，他人看待詹姆的眼神不是嘲笑不是憤怒而是相信，那一句“再見，傑米爵士”（都叫昵稱瞭啊！在一起！）讓人動容。而詹姆行至一半又摺返迴赫倫堡，將布雷妮從熊口中救齣，不管是原著還是電視劇，這一幕裏的詹姆可謂是熱血真漢子！盡管沒有靚麗的白袍，但是這一刻他就是一個真英雄。（20130513）